The silence was defeaning.
To an outsider, it would be too silent for comfort.
But for them, it was alright.
They have bequeathed the will of death to the Kuruta clan, for their own want.
The one donned in a black coat with sullen, empty onyx eyes took one last, longing look on the blood-soaked grass and the plain strewn with corpses, as if decorations.
"Yurusu o watashitachi."
*Yurusu o watashitachi: Forgive us.